Twixt Two Equal Armies

by Gail McEwen

  SHE RETURNED HIS SMILE. IT seemed he did not hold a grudge against her over the unpleasant manner of their parting and for that she was grateful. Hard feelings on his part would have made her avowed task all the more difficult, though she was determined to see it through all the same. After taking a breath she stood up and stepped toward him. In a quiet voice she spoke: “Tomorrow I thought I might walk out to visit . . . with Mrs McLaughlin . . . I wondered if I might take a moment of your time while I am there?”

  He was quite taken aback. She was asking him for a private word. That was most unexpected. Suddenly a feeling of her hunting not having been successful struck him. But what on earth did she think he could do? She didn’t think he could do something, did she? Was he supposed to do something?

  “I am at your service, Miss Tournier, as always,” he said in what he hoped was a carefree tone. Then he smiled once more reassuringly, took her hand gently in his, kissed it and bowed to take his leave. “Let me say that it is very good to see you again and I hope to see you tomorrow then. Have a good and restful night.”

  Chapter 18

  Offers are Anticipated, Dreaded, Pre-empted, Made and Accepted

  Mr McLaughlin listened to the approaching footsteps in the yard outside the stables. He paused in his labour and sighed. Not even mucking dung was safe today. It was, naturally, his lordship coming to look him up. He had hidden here originally from his wife, but that was Lord Baugham’s doing, too. Whenever his Master was in a queer mood like today – restless, angry, upset, bored — he took it out on Mrs McLaughlin by following her around the house and making sport of her chores and monosyllabic communication. He would tease her until her gruff answers gradually receded into glaring looks or sighs and when there was no more response to be had out of her, he would then move on to her husband, looking for physical chores that might offer him more resistance.

  By now it was already too late for him to maintain any hope of a peaceful day. After having taken one look at his wife when he came in for his lunch, he quickly gulped down his cock-a-leekie soup and went out to the stables and the horses’ manure. Mr McLaughlin sighed. He was a simple man, and one of the best things about his position with his lordship was the relative peace and quiet in which he could do his work. That rarely changed, even when Lord Baugham was in residence, and normally he quite liked his company — though he did talk a lot, even for a southern man — and even admired his familiarity and ready acceptance of the dirtier chores of the estate, but when he got into these moods of his . . . McLaughlin could not understand them and therefore stayed wary of them.

  He listened closely again. Yes, he was definitely heading this way. McLaughlin stuck his shovel into the dung heap and decided there were rabbit traps a few miles west that needed inspection. Alone. This instant.

  HOW CURIOUS, BAUGHAM THOUGHT AS he shook the handle of the shovel back and forth a little in the dung heap, he could have sworn he heard someone digging about just when he was about to turn the corner. But no matter. Obviously it was work in progress and he might as well dig in himself. Taking off his coat and turning up his sleeves, he set to work emptying the remaining dirt in the wheel barrel.

  It did not take long for him to finish and return to his own rooms, feeling somewhat more serene than when he had left them that morning. He could still not understand what Miss Tournier could think merited a private conversation between them so soon after her return from Edinburgh. Or, to be more accurate, he could still not understand how he would be able to avoid involving himself in something he was not prepared to undertake. That was more to the point. He knew her well enough to expect anything from her and that was a frightening thought. In his calmer moments he thought that perhaps her urgency had something to do with her cousin and Mr Darcy. Perhaps something along his own impatience for news and intelligence on how things were faring in Hertfordshire these days. In his more anxious moments he conjured up desperate schemes and arrangements that made him cringe and a light panicky sweat form under his collar. What if she was still on the hunt? Underneath all this, however, was unbridled curiosity and impatience. Did she actually mean not to make her call until teatime? What awful complications could ensue from such a late meeting? Disagreements over tea in his parlour? Disappointments to be nursed by walking home in the dark and refusing carriages and any aid? Tears? Good Lord, anything but tears!

  Baugham sighed. He needed to clean himself up, change and then assume some perfect pose of indifference and feign an engrossing occupation in some appropriate location while he waited to receive her and find out what this was all about.

  DESPITE HER WEARINESS, HOLLY HAD not slept well. The intervening days had done nothing to alleviate the memory of Mr Pembroke’s pronouncement or of her worries about finding work. When the morning dawned, she crept out of bed, dressed quietly, and went downstairs to think and worry some more.

  She shared a cup of tea with Mrs Higgins, catching up on the little bits of home life she had missed while she was away: Mrs Tournier — as Holly expected when she was not there to look out for her — had spent far too much time working at her desk, but she was gratified to hear that Lord Baugham had been a regular visitor during that time. It was very kind of him, she thought, and Maman likes his company . . .

  Holly left the thought unfinished. She busied herself around the house and in the garden. She visited with her mother and helped Mrs Higgins in the kitchen and anything else she could think of to occupy herself, until she could put off her errand no longer. Grabbing a basket and filling it with some dried bundles from the root cellar, she finally headed out to Clyne Cottage.

  The long walk gave her time to think about what she would say to Lord Baugham. It really was a simple request — he spent much of his time in London and must be acquainted with many families. She was not as convinced that he would be aware if any of them had need of a governess, but even just a few names would give her a place to start. If they could manage to make the trip to Hertfordshire for Jane’s wedding, it was only another half-day’s journey to London. Just a name or two . . . and perhaps he would know of some schools as well. But, by the time she had reached the kitchen door, she was still not quite sure of how to approach him with such an unusual question.

  A few minutes in the Clyne kitchen, exchanging her own surplus herbs for a few that Mrs McLaughlin’s cupboard held in abundance, and she found herself being quickly escorted by the unusually tight-lipped housekeeper to the library.

  Lord Baugham was standing by his desk in front of stacks of paper and there was a steady thumping noise as he was throwing old newspapers in a pile on the floor beside him, presumably to be got rid of. Mrs McLaughlin’s mouth narrowed further and she gave a huffing noise before disappearing straight away.

  Holly looked after her in surprise, having expected some sort of introduction before being left alone, but before she could reflect on how to introduce herself, his lordship had turned around and spotted her.

  “Oh,” he said. “Miss Tournier. Is it teatime already?”

  “I, uh . . . ” Holly stammered, “I don’t think it’s quite . . . Mrs McLaughlin . . . ” Then she dropped a quick curtsey and asked, “How are you today, my lord?”

  He bowed to her over the growing pile of newspapers on the floor, which looked slightly strange, and Holly could not suppress a smile.

  “Very well, thank you. And you?”

  “I am well, thank you.”

  “Quite restored from your travel?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Glad to hear it.” There was a small pause during which Baugham wondered if he should resort to the whole ritual of polite greetings and then decided he would certainly try. “And your mother? Is she well?”

  “Very well, thank you my lord. She sends her regards and thanks for your visit yesterday. And for your . . . assistance, I think was what she said.”

  “Not at all. It was my pleasure. Did you walk? The weather was not too cold?”

  Holly looked at him
suspiciously. Had they ever engaged in such a thorough exchange of civilities during their entire acquaintance? This was very odd. However, since she could not quite decide how to approach the reason for her visit, she played along, wondering how far he would take it.

  “Actually, the day is quite nice. Perfect for a brisk walk. And you? Are you liking the change in season?”

  He looked at her and then could not help himself, but broke into a smile.

  “A change in season, is it? As in change from cold rain to ice cold rain and now we are all eagerly anticipating the soon to come change into sleet?”

  His smile was disarming and Holly, suddenly aware of how brightly his blue eyes twinkled when he did so, could not help but return it.

  “That’s very true,” she said, trying not to stare. She dropped her eyes, feeling confused.

  “I brought Mrs McLaughlin some Agrimony. It’s good to take if you are caught out in the weather . . . icy rain . . . sleet . . . that is what I was gathering when I slipped in the mud . . . So I thought I should bring her some.”

  “Ah well,” Baugham answered awkwardly as they both remembered the unpleasant end to that adventure. “I do my best to avoid Mrs McLaughlin’s potions if I can possibly escape them. A hot drink and a good fire are all that are necessary to ward off a chill. Better than those barbaric tonics she tries to foist off on me.”

  Holly opened her mouth to protest his prejudice against time honoured traditions and remedies, but thought better of provoking another scene. She was here to ask a favour of him and it would be best to come to the point. She began abruptly, “I want to thank you for taking the time to speak with me today. I know that my asking this of you is highly unusual.”

  Baugham realised she was about to launch into her reasons and he almost winced.

  “Ah, yes . . . well, um . . . that is, I am happy to be of service.”

  Never had more uncertain words been spoken, he reflected and moved a few papers around to hopefully seem casual about what was to come. Whatever it was.

  Taking a deep breath and plunging ahead, Holly began, “You know my purpose in going to Edinburgh was to — ”

  “Miss Tournier!” Baugham blurted out. “I wonder, could you do something about my library for me?”

  The moment the words left his mouth, he was shocked into silence. Had he just said that? He had not even thought it before he was suddenly making an offer! It seemed she was shocked as well. She stared at him while wrinkles formed on her forehead and her eyebrows drew together in incomprehension.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said slowly.

  “I . . . I need someone to restore my library for me. Perhaps you could? It is a shambles. Mr Darcy says so all the time. So I thought. Perhaps. You could?”

  “You mean . . . work for you? Here?” Her hand sought her right earlobe and tugged at it gently in confusion.

  Was that what he had meant? He supposed so. In a way. And why not? Miss Tournier was in need of employment, he was in need — apparently — of a librarian. A librarian was not a dependent. It was a skilled craftswoman, an expert, someone with respectable knowledge and independence.

  “Well . . . yes. As you can see there is a great deal of work, and it might take some time . . . ”

  But Holly was scarcely listening. All she could think of was that Lord Baugham had just offered her an opportunity to earn some badly needed funds close to home. Looking around she quickly decided that in its current state, his lordship’s library might just keep her in work until Dr McKenna could engage her. She would not have to leave, at least not yet.

  The more she considered it, the more excited she became and she nearly had to stop herself from jumping up and down for joy. She could not stop the brilliant smile that lit her face or the enthusiasm in her voice as she accepted.

  “Yes! Yes! I will! Thank you, thank you!” She was babbling, she knew, but she could not help it. “When should I start? Do you have anything particular in mind? Tomorrow? Shall I come tomorrow?”

  Baugham felt like someone had left the doors to the stables open and he was in the process of witnessing his horses escaping to freedom. It was a beautiful sight certainly, but at what cost?

  “Um . . . ” he said hoping to form some opinion on just what exactly he had in mind by changing the subject. “Tea? Would you like some tea?”

  Holly returned his hesitation with a smile that nearly spilled out into laughter. “Oh no! I promised Maman I’d be home for tea.” Suddenly she stopped, afraid she had seemed rude. “That is, I thank you, but I cannot. Maman is expecting me. Oh . . . ”

  She frowned a little, lost as it seemed in her own thoughts.

  “My lord, it is very kind of you to offer and I gladly accept your commission, but I think I need to discuss this with my mother before I can settle any details. I hope you understand.”

  Understand? He was gratefully relieved!

  “Of course. That is entirely appropriate.”

  “Then perhaps . . . ” She looked at him, her eyes sparkling, not even attempting to hide her happiness and excitement, fighting hard against bouncing with joy. “Perhaps you would care to take tea with us . . . some day . . . tomorrow? Today?”

  Baugham looked at her. She was a puzzle, this woman. Usually when they met she was irritating and bothersome. When she had walked in to his library, she had looked sad and strained. As she was now, she was almost beautiful.

  “Well, if you are intent on not staying for tea and must hurry home, why don’t we kill two birds with one stone and I will walk with you and speak to Mrs Tournier. It will be getting dark soon,” he added.

  Again, she looked at him with an open, almost teasing expression. “Oh! Well, I suppose it is only fair that you should be the one to tell her of your generous offer. Not that she is not excessively fond of you already, I think, but this might just make her openly declare her rare admiration and esteem.”

  Baugham was slightly confused by this, but she smiled so openly and without a hint of mischief that it was contagious.

  “Right then. I’ll just get my coat.” He walked towards the door and was almost opening it before he stopped, reminded of her original reason for seeing him. “Oh, I must beg your pardon, Miss Tournier. I think you wanted to speak to me about something . . . ”

  She had moved to one of the shelves and was fingering the books and carefully touching the backs of the ones standing up when she looked back at him, her big dark eyes laughing and a contented smile that made her face glow.

  “Oh no! No, it was nothing, my lord! Nothing important at all!”

  “DID I NOT SAY THAT it was a lovely day for a brisk walk?” Holly continued the chatter on the way to Rosefarm. “Have you read Montaigne’s Of Experience? There’s a line in it that always pops into my mind when I walk: ‘when I walk alone in a beautiful orchard, if my thoughts have been dwelling elsewhere, I bring them back to the walk, to the orchard, to the sweetness of this solitude, and to me’. Of course, this is not an orchard, but I always think of it when I go through the woods as well.”

  She reached out and plucked a bronzed leaf off of a branch of a nearby tree. “I don’t usually like to walk through the orchards this time of year. They always feel so empty and desolate. My favourite time is in the spring, when the trees are bursting with flowers and bees, and everything is so busy and full of life.”

  Baugham could only watch her in amazement. Who was this chattering, skipping person talking about orchards and spring? It seemed every time she opened her mouth he was even more amazed at what came out of it. Holding his peace, he listened to her rattle on, hardly pausing to gasp for breath.

  “But, of course that makes this time of year excellent for the kind of work you have offered me. Did I already tell you how thankful I am?” She smiled and a slight blush spread across her face. “Oh, I am certain I did, didn’t I?”

  Baugham gave a dismissive gesture and swung his cane through the wilted grass, still saying nothing.

  “And I w
ill work very hard and it will be a pleasure at the same time. And even if that commission of Dr McKenna or any other is offered to me, I promise you will still have my absolute diligence and commitment. There is, I know, a lot of work to be done and your library is sorely lacking in attention and dedication. I am sorry to say it, but I think you must agree. Still, I am certain I can make something out of it that you can be proud of and enjoy all at the same time. That is what libraries should give, don’t you think? Both pleasure and knowledge — a whole world in a little space — so many friends and even authorities for your personal joy! It is like a little university in your own home, don’t you think?”

  Baugham shook his head slightly while he smiled at the ground.

  “What? Oh, I do go on, don’t I?” Holly laughed and ripped the leaf apart sprinkling the ground with the dry remnants as they walked on. “But this means so much to me,” she said more quietly. “To us. My mother and me.”

  “So it seems,” he said. “And your promise of industry is impressive. Though it does leave me slightly breathless.”

  “Oh!” She averted her eyes and bit her lip. “Well, when I get excited I do . . . well, I do lose some of my composure I suppose, and buzz about.”

  He looked at her and smilingly said:

  “The bee goes out, and honey home doth bring,

  And some who seek that honey find a sting.

  Now would’st thou have the honey, and be free

  From stinging, in the first place kill the bee.”

  Baugham had been thinking of the lines for a long time. They would perhaps be seen as impertinent, but they seemed to fit this exhuberant moment and surely she could not know about the scrap of paper serving as a bookmark now.

  HOLLY LOOKED AT LORD BAUGHAM for a moment, reminded her of her poor unscientific bumble bees that could not assure themselves of even insincere flattery.

  “Really, my lord, that is terribly unfair to the poor bee — to destroy it because you will not take the time to learn how best to get the honey. I presume that is a dilemma many of us face — there is no other insect that can provide the honey, yet we shy away from the bee because we are afraid of its sting. We need it, but it frightens us.”